


after everything I've lost on you: vignettes

by chrundletheokay



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: All hurt no comfort, Eating Disorders, Emetophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Purging, References to past CSA, all i've ever wanted was you, but still it's definitely not fun, canon-typical abusive relationship dynamics, canon-typical physical abuse, i'm always just thinking about how mac's internalized homophobia affected dennis, i'm sorry i'm so very sorry, in spite of all the TWs things aren't described in explicit/graphic detail for the most part, is it just me or is the term non-con an unbearable euphemism?, let's raise a glass or two to all the things i've lost on you, seriously this hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19165798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrundletheokay/pseuds/chrundletheokay
Summary: A series of disjointed vignettes, post "Mac and Dennis Break Up."[“But you still like me, right?”He stares at Mac in stoney-faced silence, because the answer that fills his mind and bubbles to the back of his throat, in desperate search of an outlet, terrifies him.]





	after everything I've lost on you: vignettes

**Author's Note:**

> [post “Mac and Dennis Break Up.”]
> 
> [TW: It’s Dennis, so… eating disorders, purging / emetophobia warning, references to Dennis being a serial predator/rapist, sex as self-harm, references to past childhood sexual abuse, internalized homophobia, canon-typical Mac and Dennis abusive relationship dynamics. Nothing especially graphic, imho. But honestly, when you write it all out like that, it sounds bad. Because it is. They are.]
> 
> (I feel like I could keep adding to this, but my fics tend to get long and unwieldy. I tried to arrange the vignettes chronologically, by consulting an episode list, but it's intentionally rather disjointed; I imagine Dennis's mind is, too.)

“Always, Den,” Mac promised. “Always.”

So Dennis willingly suspended his disbelief.

In the end, Dennis was right: there’s no such thing as always.

 

.

 

He locks himself in the bathroom and sits on the floor of the shower, hot water beating down relentlessly on his disgusting, rotten body. As he sobs brokenly, he swallows shower water and endless amounts of snot and big shuddering gasps of air, until he’s so sick, he’s certain he’ll never eat again.

 

.

 

He revives and subsequently perfects the D.E.N.N.I.S. System. It’s method; it’s formula; it’s routine.

Still, far too often, it feels like it did the first time, and that’s stupid. It’s stupid, because the first time was so long ago. It wasn’t a big deal when it happened, and it’s even less important now.

It’s stupid, because Dennis makes sure he’s in control now. Not that he  _wasn’t_  in control then.

He liked it then, and he likes it now. He likes women, and he likes  _being_  with women, so he’s going to keep sleeping with women until sleeping with women stops hurting.

 

.

 

This thing with Mac will stop hurting eventually, too.

It has to stop hurting, because Dennis wills for it to be so. He creates his own reality and his own universe. If Mac refuses to allow for a reality where they are together, that isn’t a problem, because Dennis will simply create a reality in which he doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.

_They say you can learn to live with anything._  It’s a cliché, but anything people say so often must be true. Even if it feels like it never will be.

 

.

 

It was horrifically idiotic and naïve to ever imagine that Mac’s kisses were the best thing in life, to decide that perhaps kissing wasn’t just a means to an end, the way it so often felt with women. In retrospect, that whole delusion is unspeakably humiliating. Dennis wants nothing more than to go back in time and punch himself in the face for ever believing it. He’s grateful he had the sense never to divulge anything of the sort to Mac.

Dennis is a distinguished graduate of an Ivy League university, and the proprietor of South Philly’s best Irish dive bar (excluding a certain competitor that must not be named). He’s an intelligent and cultured man who could have anyone he wanted. And all that bullshit he bought into with Mac is straight out of a child’s fairy tale. It was a trite cliché, and Dennis was the fool blind enough to fall for it. Never again will he fall prey to such romantic drivel.

Nothing about Mac was ever sweet. It can be easy to forget, with that stupid baby face of his, and those big puppy dog eyes. At heart, however, Mac is just as much a selfish bastard as everyone else. It wasn’t meant to be, and that’s perfectly acceptable to Dennis.

Besides, who needs Mac, or love, or romance when you can force an entire gallon of ice cream down your throat and vomit it back up in half an hour flat?

 

.

 

“Hey, Dennis?” Mac is red-faced, all the way to the tips of his bright pink ears, but history indicates that embarrassment won’t stop him. 

Reluctantly, Dennis makes eye contact and waits for the inevitable question. He doesn’t know what it is, but he’s already annoyed, already knows it’ll be obnoxious and stupid.

“No homo or anything, but you still…. like, love me and stuff, right? Like, blood brothers, and all that,” Mac asks.

Dennis wants to scream. He wants to slit Mac’s throat, and then his own. He wants to slit his wrists and bleed out in front of Mac and _dare_ him to fucking say something — _anything at all._ Given that, his response is admirably restrained: “No, Mac. No, I don’t.” He forces the words out; his throat feels tight and his voice sounds harsh, even to his own ears.

“Oh.” Mac’s face falls. After a minute of quiet contemplation, he asks again, “But you still _like_ me, right?”

He stares at Mac in stoney-faced silence, because the answer that fills his mind and bubbles to the back of his throat, in desperate search of an outlet, terrifies him: _No, Mac, I fucking hate you._

So it still hurts.

If anything, it hurts worse.

 

.

 

It’s performance, and it’s compulsion.

It feels awful.  _He_  feels awful.

He feels disgusting and disgusted, sick with himself, and sick to his stomach. He hates himself, and hates what he’s become. More than anything else, he hates Mac. For everything. For all of it.

But he keeps doing it. Eventually, it will start to feel good. It has to. What else is there?

 

.

 

It doesn’t hurt anymore, because he isn’t in love with Mac.

The problem is this: he continually forgets that there’s nothing in between love and hate. Not until it’s too late, and the switch is flipped. There is nothing between where they were then, and where they are now.

Nothing between numbness and blinding white rage.

“I hate you so  _fucking_  much,” he hisses. There are angry red scratches down Mac’s cheek, his stupid fucking brown eyes brimming with tears. The hatred burns like acid low in his gut, mixing with shame as Mac sniffles and rubs the back of his hand across his nose.

It could never be apathy with Mac.

 

.

 

It doesn’t hurt anymore, because  _nothing_  hurts anymore. It’s terrifying.

 

.

 

By day three Post-Fire, the novelty of crashing at Dee’s has long worn off, leaving in its place an unbearable, aching homesickness. After a few too many shots of cheap tequila, Dennis is crying into Mac’s shoulder, thinking if he can’t go home, perhaps he can crawl inside Mac’s skin and make himself at home there.

It doesn’t work that way for long. Morning comes, and they both sober up. Mac won’t look at him, and he certainly won’t touch him again.

 

.

 

Dee is out — on another guaranteed-to-be-disastrous date, or possibly trying her luck at that foot fetish thing again, or maybe selling her hair on Craigslist. Who the hell knows? The minutia of her life have never concerned Dennis. As per the rules of the bet, she is due back at the apartment to sleep in the California King.

There’s no telling when that will be.

Even so, Dennis takes his time, pressing Mac into the sofa, straddling his lap, one knee on either side.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Den,” Mac breathes the words into his ear like a prayer. Like the God who hates him isn't listening. Like he's finally recognizing Dennis for the miracle he is.

There’s but a few seconds of hesitation before Mac’s hands rest on his waist _just so_ , like they belong there. Dennis sits up straighter, taller, and resolves to lose at least ten pounds before letting anyone touch him again.

Afterward, Dennis wills his traitorous body back under control and walks out the door, no clear destination in mind, only a direction: _away from Mac._

Without saying a single word, Dennis has made his message clear: _you’re mine, and I own you_.

And: _I don’t need this, and I don’t need you._

**Author's Note:**

> "Hold me like you never lost your patience  
> Tell me that you love me more than hate me all the time  
> And you're still mine."  
> \- LP, "Lost on You"  
> (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wDjeBNv6ip0)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr, where I have the same username: chrundletheokay
> 
> [I posted this on there, but either no one saw it or no one liked it, and I need validation. (Who doesn't?) "Tell me I'm good tell me I'm good tell me I'm good..."]


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